


Five's the Charm

by EA_Lakambini



Series: Orbital Resonance: GOC2020 [10]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bets & Wagers, Competition, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Games, Good Omens Celebration 2020, Humor, Love, M/M, Married Life, Miracles, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), ineffable husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24102961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EA_Lakambini/pseuds/EA_Lakambini
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley challenge each other to not perform more than five miracles in a day.(They’re both also competitive, and may or may not be above sabotage.)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Orbital Resonance: GOC2020 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725724
Comments: 8
Kudos: 41
Collections: Good Omens Celebration





	Five's the Charm

**Author's Note:**

> Yet ANOTHER one of those stories that I thought I could keep at under 1,000 words, and it ran away from me to become this 3k monster :)
> 
> Prompt: miracle.

Breakfast at a certain cottage in the South Downs, that particular morning, was a rather interesting affair. Honestly, Crowley guessed that it all started when he had been the one assigned to breakfast duty two days ago. He had been cooking the sunny-side-up eggs, and some of the yolks had spilled open; without even taking a second look, he had miracled them back into perfectly round yellow circles. This incident had thus led to this morning’s breakfast, and Aziraphale’s… _challenge_.

“I bet you can’t get through an entire day without performing _at least_ ten miracles,” Aziraphale said smugly. Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Is that so, angel? Considering you’re the one who practically rains down miracles before you even get your shoes on?” he challenged. Aziraphale’s eyes met his, and he knew that the angel was going to up the ante.

“Five miracles, Crowley,” Aziraphale said slowly, a mischievous smile on his face. “Let’s get through the day without performing more than five, and whoever wins gets the other’s serving of pie tonight!” Crowley rolled his eyes. “Sweetheart, you get my slice of pie regardless of what I do,” he said teasingly, smiling at the soft shade of pink that suddenly appeared on his husband’s cheeks. “And why go for rewarding the winner? I think it would be far more entertaining – I mean, far more motivational – if we punish the loser.”

Aziraphale lightly drummed his fingers on the table. “I’m not really a fan of _that_ kind of motivation, but it does have its place, I suppose. But what would the punishment be?”

“Ah, I know the perfect one,” Crowley said, suddenly snickering. Aziraphale _knows_ that look on the demon’s face – it’s the one he wears when he’s about to start gluing coins to the sidewalk – and braces himself. “Whoever loses… has to wear, for the whole evening, that ridiculous fuzzy onesie that Adam sent us for Christmas last year.”

“Oh, _good Lord,”_ Aziraphale groaned. The Antichrist had grown up to have a rather unusual sense of humor, and his gifts to his two “godfathers” had ranged from rather useful to outright strange. The fuzzy onesies were definitely on the strange end of the spectrum.

“All right; it’s a wager, then. Anyone who exceeds five miracles before tonight has to wear the onesie. Oh, and reading excessively or sleeping the day off is not permitted,” concluded Aziraphale, extending a hand to Crowley across the dining table.

“Starting… when? Sunrise? And it ends at sunset?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale nodded, a pleased smile already crossing his face. Crowley smirked and quickly shook the angel’s hand. “It’s on.”

“Hah, I’m pretty sure I’m going to win, because you’ve already started on the path to lose,” Crowley said, sticking his tongue out while gesturing at Aziraphale’s angel wing mug, the cocoa inside it steaming in a way that it decidedly had not been before. Aziraphale blushed slightly; he hadn’t realized that he had reheated his cocoa as they were talking. It was one of those things that he did almost without thought; he had to be very careful about that today.

“Well, if that’s the case, my dear, then you already have one on your count, too,” Aziraphale said, smirking slightly. Crowley set his coffee cup back down with a loud thunk. “Excuse me? What are you on about, angel? I haven’t used any miracles yet!”

Aziraphale laughed as he went to put both cups in the sink. “Crowley, darling,” he said, and Crowley could hear the amusement in his voice. “You and I both know you use a miracle every morning to get yourself into those tight trousers.”

Crowley opened his mouth to object, and then closed it, because _damn._ It was so annoying when the angel was right. And he knew it would be even more annoying if the angel won.

“Ugh, all right, fine, so that’s one miracle each,” Crowley acquiesced. He walked over to Aziraphale and hugged him from behind, chuckling as the angel wriggled slightly in his arms. “You get that one, but I’m in this for the long game, angel. You’re going to _lose_ ,” he continued with a soft hiss, teasingly pressing a kiss to Aziraphale’s ear, before letting go and heading off to the bathroom to take his usual morning shower.

“That’s what you think, dearest.” Of course Aziraphale had to have the last word, the bastard.  
  


*~*~*~*~*  
  


Crowley hummed to himself as he stood under the stream of the shower. He normally didn’t take this long, since he usually miracled his hair to be impeccably styled, removing the need for regular conditioning. He had to admit, though, doing it the human way was kind of relaxing. _Five miracles, tops, and I only have four left before I have to deal with that horrible… thing,_ he thought to himself. Well, there was no way he was going to let himself end up in that monstrosity of fabric that dared to classify itself as clothing. He knew that if he was going to win this, he’d have to plan a strategy starting now.

Unfortunately, the planning was kind of difficult to do while in the shower, particularly because apparently he hadn’t closed the bathroom door securely and an annoyingly cold draft had crept in. “Angel?” Crowley called out, turning down the water slightly to be heard. “Could you close the bathroom door?”

“Yes, of course, dear,” he heard the reply, and the door swung closed… but not quite fully.

_Oh, come on._

“Aziraphale, I don’t think you closed it fully, if you don’t mind…?” he called out again, shivering slightly. Sure enough, he heard some quick footsteps approaching the bathroom. He heaved a sigh of relief as the door swung softly shut, but promptly began shivering again as it swung open, this time with a stronger breeze. There was no way that the door could have swung open on its own like that, he was absolutely certain.

“Angel, for _Someone’s_ sake, shut the damn door, it… is… so… COLD!” Crowley shouted as the air gusted into the bathroom again, chilling his damp skin. He waved a hand in the direction of the bathroom door, and flinched as he realized that his gesture had miracled the door shut and locked.

“And that’s two on your count, my dear boy!” The angel’s voice was slightly muffled through the door, but Crowley could hear the smug laughter. _All right, if that’s how he wants to play, then we’re playing.  
  
_

*~*~*~*~*  
  


Aziraphale giggled to himself as he buttoned up his shirt in front of the mirror in their bedroom. He knew that Crowley wasn’t expecting him to, say, manage the circumstances in his favor, and it really amused him to see how quickly he could rile up the demon to perform a miracle. But really, his husband was sometimes so impatient, could hardly fathom doing things the human way, so this game was pretty much settled, at least in the angel’s mind.

His thoughts were interrupted by Crowley entering the bedroom, scowling while pulling a towel from his hair. The scarlet locks were still wet, and some were sticking up rather funny at the back of his head. Aziraphale couldn’t help but let another laugh escape him; the demon swatted his arm with the damp towel in retaliation.

“Laugh all you want, angel, but the day has just begun,” Crowley grumbled. Then a teasing expression appeared in the demon’s eyes. “You’re not the only one who can play dirty, especially in, say… the study?”

A look of alarm crossed Aziraphale’s face, and he quickly exited the bedroom and went down the hall to his study. And… it looked all right, he supposed. There were no books strewn about or papers on the floor, no upended inkstands or overturned paperweights. What had the demon been talking about?

Aziraphale took a closer look at the nearest bookshelf, and then took a step back in horror. What… was a _second edition_ Orwell doing in the same shelf as his first edition Shakespeares? And, oh no, _that_ was a Tolkien stacked with the Brontë collections, and over _there_ was a scroll of the Mahābhārata actually wedged in with Machiavelli’s _The Prince_ and a first edition of White’s _The Once and Future King_ (well, the categorization made sense, but the scroll had been shoved in so _messily_ ) _._

And to top it all off, some of the pages he had previously marked with bookmarks and scraps of paper had been replaced – with dog ears.

Aziraphale was now feeling slightly dizzy.

Behind him, he could _feel_ Crowley standing in satisfaction. How his husband managed to wreak this chaos in under fifteen minutes, Aziraphale has no idea, but he didn’t sense any demonic miracles here. So it’s really just down to Crowley being _utterly annoying,_ then.

“Crowley, this will take me _all week_ to get back in order!” Aziraphale exclaimed in exasperation as he started sorting out the books into at least ten different piles. Crowley laughed as he sauntered out of the study, tossing over his shoulder, “You need me to close the door for you, angel?”

(He doesn’t.)

The demon smiles in satisfaction, when, not half an hour later, he hears a muttered “oh, _bugger_ it all,” and a snap of fingers.  
  


*~*~*~*~*  
  


Much of the morning passed without much incident. Despite Aziraphale emerging from his study with a long-suffering look on his face, he hadn’t done anything much to Crowley except to playfully push him on the shoulder to make room for him to pass on the stairs. The two went about the morning in their usual activities: Aziraphale sorting out new arrivals of books, Crowley going through social media on his phone. It was calm, almost too calm.

Until it was almost time for lunch; Crowley and Aziraphale had a long-standing biweekly reservation at the little seaside restaurant a few roads away, and today was one of those days. Aziraphale carefully tied on his bowtie while Crowley took their coats out of the hall closet.

Crowley then reached into the little bowl on a shelf near the door of the cottage, where he kept the keys to the Bentley. And… the keys were not there.

Crowley felt around the bowl quickly, his eyebrows wrinkling in confusion. _I’m pretty sure I left the keys here… unless I left them in my jacket?_ He quickly patted the pockets of his blazer as well as those of his trousers; no luck. He looked through the other items on the shelf, in case he had missed the bowl and accidentally left the keys among the various knickknacks there; still nothing.

Then Crowley looked over at Aziraphale, who was watching him quietly, with an absolutely _shit-eating_ grin on his face. “Did you misplace it, my dear?” The angel asked innocently. “Oh, I do hope you find it _soon_ , since I don’t think either of us can miracle the restaurant to extend our reservation.” Crowley let out a huff of air in frustration, and paced the room quickly to check for the keys.

After making quick rounds of the bedroom, sitting area, and kitchen, and finding nothing, Crowley had to bite the bullet. He snapped his fingers, and the keys to the Bentley zoomed out from underneath some sofa cushions and into Crowley’s hand. “Real mature, angel,” he muttered. The angel simply smiled sunnily at him, and went out the door first.  
  


*~*~*~*~*  
  


The early afternoon found Aziraphale in the kitchen, with a cakes cookbook propped open against the milk jug. He had already put the cake pans in the oven when Crowley stepped into the room.

“Mmm, that smells good; sponge cake?” Crowley asked, taking a quick peek in the oven door. “Yes, love; I’m trying out a Battenburg cake this time,” Aziraphale replied proudly, gesturing to the two different kinds of cake batter he had prepared, as well as the mixing bowl with apricot filling. Crowley dipped a finger into the mixing bowl to taste the filling, nodding in approval.

Crowley affectionately brushed some flour off Aziraphale’s shirt. “That’s delicious. You spoil me with your baking, angel,” he murmured. Aziraphale smiled back, glowing slightly at his husband’s praise, then blinked in surprise as Crowley leaned in to kiss him, softly at first and then with more intent. One kiss led to another, and Aziraphale sighed contentedly, wrapping his arms around Crowley’s neck and pulling him closer.

Crowley gently pinned Aziraphale against the kitchen counter as he continued pressing soft kisses to the angel’s lips and neck. Aziraphale purred in pleasure, digging his fingers in Crowley’s short red curls. He pulled Crowley back up for a longer kiss, his tongue sliding past Crowley’s lips to taste the sweetness of the apricots that the demon had been sampling. Crowley responded eagerly, sucking on Aziraphale’s lower lip, nipping and biting teasingly. The demon’s hands also kept busy, one gently caressing at Aziraphale’s collarbone, and the other lightly grazing at his waist. _Mm, you’re the one who spoils me, you serpent._

That was when Aziraphale noticed the smoke.

With a yelp, Aziraphale pushed Crowley off him and rushed to the oven. But it was too late; the delicate pink and yellow of the cakes were now an uneven dark brown with charred edges. “Oh, no! I don’t think I have enough batter for another batch! Oh dear, I didn’t hear the alarm at all – “ He looked on despondently as Crowley carefully pulled out the pans, tipping the burnt cakes onto a cooling rack.

Aziraphale sighed, then waved a hand over the ruined cakes. The burn marks disappeared and two new and fluffy sheets appeared on the baking pans. Crowley smiled apologetically, then reached over to help mix the cake filling. He smeared a small dollop of cream on Aziraphale’s nose, before leaning in close to lick it off with a quick affectionate kiss. Aziraphale could hardly complain.  
  


*~*~*~*~*  
  


The late afternoon found Crowley outside in the garden, attacking the weeds. The heat of the sun had eased up enough that the rays prickled at his skin rather than burned it, but it was still plenty warm. He wiped away the sweat from his brow, before heading over to the porch to get his gardening shears. The weeds were getting rather aggressive, and though his shouting at them had caused them to shrink away in fear, he still had to cut and prune them away from the plants he actually wanted to keep (and they, too, also curled on themselves whenever he would shout, so it was a little difficult to tease them apart from the weeds).

Aziraphale handed over the shears from where he was watching on the porch. “Darling, you ought to have bought a new pair when we went out for lunch earlier,” he commented. “These are quite rusty already, and you might hurt yourself using them.” Crowley examined the shears; sure, the spring between the handles was pretty rusted, but the blades were still sharp enough to deal with the tougher weeds. And, well, he didn’t feel like going out to get another pair; the afternoon heat left him feeling lazier than usual.

“I’ll be fine, angel,” Crowley replied, as he bent down to begin pruning around some of the smaller shrubs. The rusted spring made snipping a bit difficult, but there was no way he was going to expend a miracle when raw strength would do just fine. He began working on a particularly thick portion of weeds, when he squeezed too hard on the handles; the shears flipped out of his hand, the blade side striking hard on the back of his other hand. “Fuck fuck _fuck_!” he cursed, hissing slightly as he examined the cut, which had already begun to bleed.

At the sound of Crowley’s shout, Aziraphale hurried off the porch and knelt in front of the demon, quickly taking his hand and looking at the wound. “Oh, my dear boy, this must sting a lot,” the angel said worriedly. He ran a finger gently over the cut, and suddenly Crowley felt the wound begin to close, the skin healing to a soft sensitive pink. He raised an eyebrow at the angel, who now refused to meet his eyes. “Aziraphale, it was fine, it was just a cut; you didn’t have to miracle that,” he murmured, any hint of teasing gone.

Aziraphale smiled weakly at him. “I just don’t like seeing you in pain if I can help it, my dear,” he said softly, giving Crowley’s hand a soft pat with his own. Crowley nodded, an apology in his eyes. “Sorry, angel,” he waved a hand, and the gardening shears were suddenly sparkling like new, without a trace of rust, the spring well-oiled. “I’ll be more careful.”

Aziraphale blinked at him in surprise, and Crowley knew that he was counting back the number of miracles that they’d done so far. Then the angel began rolling up his sleeves. “I’m glad to hear it; how about I help you finish the weeding the garden? Just to keep you from getting into any more scrapes,” he said, smiling lightly. Crowley laughed lightly. “Sure, but you be careful, too; I know the last time you worked in a garden, you were using a sword a lot bigger than these shears… but you only hung on to it for, what, a day?”

“You forget that I actually did _some_ gardening while at the Dowling residence; it wasn’t just my heavenly grace causing them to flower so well,” Aziraphale shoved him good-naturedly as he began to separate the weeds from the main body of the shrubs for Crowley to prune. The next quarter hour were spent in companionable silence, quiet except for the sharp sounds of weeds being pulled and branches being cut. Crowley relaxed in the familiarity of the motions, trying not to get distracted by the sight of Aziraphale’s bare forearms – because honestly that still made him feel slightly weak, even after having already seen Aziraphale far more bare – and focused on finishing the weeding before the sun set.

“OW!” Aziraphale suddenly winced and wildly grappled at his arm, wrenching a bee off the skin of his wrist. The angel bit back another shout as he tugged the stinger out, the welt already red and starting to swell slightly. On instinct, he rubbed at the welt with his other finger, and the pain lessened as the swelling began to recede. _Oh, drat. That was another miracle, wasn’t it? And the poor little bumblebee, oh dear; I didn’t mean to be that rough with the little creature…_

Aziraphale looked up quickly to see Crowley looking down at him with a strange expression. The demon said nothing, but gently pressed a soft kiss to the mark on his wrist. Then, he looked down on the ground, where the bee had fallen in its death throes when Aziraphale had yanked it out of his skin. Crowley snapped his fingers above the bee, and it buzzed with life, hovering between them both before flying away.

Crowley dusted his hands on his trousers, and went to put away the shears and his other gardening tools. “ _Don’t_ you say anything. Coming in, angel?” Aziraphale could see that he was blushing ever so slightly.

Aziraphale stood up as well, smiling softly to himself as he watched the bee zip from flower to flower in the now-weeded garden. He never really thought that the demon could read his mind, but he supposed that Crowley just really understood him that well.  
  


*~*~*~*~*  
  


“So, I guess you could say that was an entertaining day,” Crowley said lazily as he poured them both a glass of red wine. The rays of sunlight streaming in through their window were now a deep orange, and hints of inky twilight could be seen in the sky. “Five apiece for us, if I didn’t miscount. Shall we call it a draw, then?” He handed Aziraphale a glass; the angel smiled in thanks and took a sip before setting the glass down on the side table.

“There are only fifteen minutes left until the sun has fully set, my dear,” Aziraphale agreed. “It seems things will proceed as they always have: you and I have always thwarted each other so well, and it is _such_ a shame; you would have looked absolutely adorable in a onesie!” He concluded, tossing his head back in an amused chortle over the mental image.

In his laughter, Aziraphale fell against the armchair, his arm swinging back and accidentally sweeping the glass of wine.

Crowley saw the dark red liquid spilling out, towards the stack of Oscar Wilde editions also on the side table. In a blink, he quickly snapped his fingers, and the wine splashed off harmlessly, zooming back into the now-upright wine glass.

“Oh, Crowley, thank goodness! The books – “ Aziraphale cried out, his hands quickly lifting the books and moving them to the center table of the sitting room. As he set them down, he suddenly realized what had happened. “Crowley, you miracled the wine away from them?” The demon simply nodded. “No need to thank me, angel, but I’d prefer you didn’t thank goodness either; _that_ had nothing to do with it.”

Aziraphale looked quickly at the window. The sky was becoming dark, but the sun… had not yet set. “Yes, but you – that’s your sixth miracle of the day already, Crowley,” The angel said, eyes wide. “You knew… that in doing that, you would lose,” he continued, his voice small.

Crowley shrugged. “You wouldn’t have miracled the stain away anyway, whether we had the wager or not, because you would always know it was there. Like I said, s’not a big deal. I know you, sweetheart, and I know how much you love those books.”

Aziraphale gently stroked the spines of the books, then stood up to stand in front of Crowley. “It’s nowhere near as much as I love you, dearest,” he whispered, before leaning down to kiss him. Crowley smiled against the angel’s lips, and ran a hand through the soft white-blond curls. Aziraphale pulled away after a moment, a tender look in his eyes, which suddenly lit up with a mischievous spark.

And with a snap of angelic fingers, _both_ were suddenly dressed in the annoyingly warm and fuzzy onesies – Aziraphale as a rabbit and Crowley as a unicorn. “I thought this was _my_ punishment?” Crowley said, raising an eyebrow while gently poking at the puffy tail on Aziraphale’s behind. Aziraphale laughed, playfully tugging on the unicorn horn stitched on the hood just above Crowley’s forehead. “I used a miracle to get you to wear it, so technically I went over the limit today, too.”

Aziraphale pushed aside the silly stuffed horn on Crowley’s hood, before leaning over to kiss him again. Even though Crowley knew he had lost, he had never felt more joyous in victory. He could do with losing more wagers – could even do without miracles for a while – if _this_ was what he got instead.

**Author's Note:**

> Did this story come about because I needed an excuse to put the husbands in onesies? Why, yes, yes it did. Do I regret it? Not at all.
> 
> Thanks for dropping by!


End file.
